Of Demons and Pawns
by Electric Elly
Summary: ::AU::  A world where demons should not exist, where the supernatural is scorned.  A world of demons of all calibre, parallel to the world as we know it.  It's a bad idea to get bored, especially when you're a Demon Lord.  ::Rating may change::
1. Chapter 1

**::_Authors Note::_**

_Hello there, I__'__m rather new to posting here, yet I have been around the site for a couple of years now, but due to some irrational fear of the great web I have only reviewed a few times *shame faced*_

_I started writing this in November, for NaNoWriMo. Unfortunately, I had hit the dreaded writers block (reasons on profile.) but, after some time I am finally beginning to post. Please don't expect super fast updates, as I do have a life outside of writing and somehow considering I do procrastinate a lot I do have a very busy life (somehow). There may/will be some mistakes, as I suppose you could say I am converting this into fan fiction from my original version with own characters names. I couldn't help but put in characteristics from some favourites into my own characters, and really feel slightly more comfortable in writing another character I do not own or made up, than my own. Perhaps due to fear of the dreaded Mary/Gary Sues?_

_Anyway, note aside, and onto reading!_

**_::To save hassle, this is both the prologue and first chapter::_**

**_Disclaimer: Since I am female, English and have not the dedication to write a good 480 chapter plus manga, I obviously do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo does, and always will._**

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><p>-Prologue-<p>

_Cold. Cold cold cold… dark._

_**Oh? It doesn't seem it. Where are you? **__Oh, that's right._

_**Who are you running from**__? Oh, nothing it seemed._

_**Who are you**__? What- what kind of question was that?_

_**A valid one.**_

_A what?_

_**Answer the question.**_

_I can't_

_**Why not?**_

…_Priest. That's what I am at least. Yes- that's it. I'm Priest, in soul, in existence, and what I am._

_**Is that really who you are- or what you are- or what your existence is? Must be pretty sure to say it's your **_**soul. **_**I don't think you are. In fact, the answer is sure to be far from that. What kind of priest holds a conversation with himself? Surely that is a sign of demonic possession?**_

…_Shut up. I am not talking to you- I am not thinking of you. What are you? What am I truly then?_

…_**Nothing. You are nothing, always have been, always will be. You are truly nothing. Past, present and future. Priest- the nothing is what you should be called if you insist upon **_**Priest**_** as a name.**_

_No- you lie. _You _are the nothing. You're just my imagination._

…_**Che**_

"A pretty vivid imagination you have then? If I am your imagination, then why am I here?"

Priest turned- Priest, the more he thought that was his name and very existence, the less sure he got. He needed, he _wanted _to remember. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

As he turned, he came to see a pale spectre, standing tall, lean wiry muscle evident on his body- strong black leathery wings that looked as though they could slice the air, whirling with shadows- proud. That was all he could describe him as. Proud, the pure epitome of pride.

"I'd say I'm Sin more than _Pride"_

Hang on, did he read his mind?

"I suppose you could say I did. Human minds are oh so easy to read, to destroy, and to rip to pieces. Then there's the screams, the screams as a person's mind and reality falls apart- their memories vanquished, erased, their very soul stripped to pieces as all they can remember and who they are is re-written. Painfully."

"Is… is that what you did to me?"

There was no answer. The creature, as that was what it was, no denying that with those wings—and good god. The eyes. The tail. He really was royally screwed.

"A…Answer me! If you do not—"

"You'll do what exactly? _Kill _me? Know your place human."

Damn, he was fast. A strangled cry tried to claw itself from his throat, his throat now being squeezed and pressured by the thin, black, demonic tail. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even _think. _Its face was pressed up, close to his face. His eyes, the pure wrath and fury of hell were in his gaze, and that gaze was boring into his mind. He had never felt so intimidated, so scared, so mentally unstable. _Breathe…_

_Just… br..eathe…._

_Brea…..the…_

_b..r..e..a..t..h..e….._

_**Too late, human. Your pitiful life is over. You are mine….**_

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><p>-Chapter One-<p>

"How are you today, Mr? Everything all right, no worries now have we?"

No reply, but then, there never was. At least, there was never no reply verbally. You had to look out for the small actions, the miniscule signs that could show his motives, what he would do, the signs that would give you a split second warning before an attack. The last time that had happened- two weeks ago to be exact- he had killed. Showed no sign of even being conscious of this act, mercilessly splitting the skull, and digging his dull, blunt, ragged nails into the still alive mans skin, pulling—ripping—peeling the skin. Not even batting an eye at the pain and pure grotesquery of his actions- in fact, he looked like a child on Christmas. Never had more fun in his life.

No, she would not think of that day, she hadn't witnessed the event, but had heard the account. Awful, and yet he didn't even acknowledge the heinous act, the pure cannibalistic act of no mercy. He had been heavily sedated after that. Strapped down on the bed with the strong black leather straps, stopping him from moving- well, he was too under to even think of moving.

But that was then. And this was now. Now, he was awake- and watching her every movements. Watching her with bronze, unblinking eyes. It was unnerving- the way he seemed to regard her as a toy. A toy to be played with, to be broken, to have her head ripped off like a child would do to ones Barbie for pleasure.

He was the hunter, she was the prey.

And he knew it.

Oh, he knew it so much that his eyes taunted her, dared her to move closer and to venture into the Lion's Den- a venture that if taken, she would not be alive to tell the tale. The pure fear that he inflicted on her- on everyone- was one that she had to cover, one to hide. A predator always took pleasure when it noticed that the prey was scared. They could smell it. The fear they could, they could sense it rolling off a person in waves, waves that are un-tameable and let free to roll off to tempt the predator into taking the prey. Waves that are unstoppable. Waves that alerted anything to the weaknesses of the person they were coming from. Fear was like a giant neon sign blaring out in its full glory of excessiveness: 'Come get me! I'm here, I'm here!'

_Haunted Soul_

_Going under_

_Missing My Purpose_

_Taking over me_

_Thoughtless_

_Everybodys a fool_

_Farther away_

_My last breath_

_Breathe _

_No more_

_Please no more_

_End my life_

_Whisper my name_

_You__'__re __Imaginary_

_You__'__re Hungry_

Those words were scribbled all over. Scribbled into the soft padding that made up the floor, walls and ceiling. Scratched into the hard lumpy bed. Even on the sturdy leather straps. There wasn't anything that he could have actually used... then her mind went back to his tattered, torn nails. He couldn't have... could he? But he must of. It was evident- there would be no other sharp, potentially lethal object in his room. The only lethal thing in here would be him. Again, thoughts of the whole Predator Vs Prey scenario popped back into her mind.

Letting out an involuntary shudder, she took a step forward, proceeding in her days task. Why had they picked her to do this particular job again? Oh yes, Higher Ups demanded her too. She was generally used to dealing with the... ah _–mentally unstable- _whom weren't a threat to society and the world as we know it. Those type of people were easy to deal with- a little pill here, another there, possibly an injection when needed and small easy, menial things to be dealt with. Her shock, when she first found out her task for the day, was indescribable.

"_I'm supervising who?"_

"_You heard the occupant of room 13. Our John Doe. Think you can handle it?"_

_13... that was a low number. The way rooms are assigned here are based on the length of how long the subject has been here. 13 was the lowest that I had ever heard of- I was normally dealing with subjects that weren't long term, normally the stay of subjects that I supervise is generally 6 months to 1 year. Why am I being asked to suddenly supervise this subject- especially one that is being called a John Doe—meaning that any identification, background, recorded life is an unknown?_

"_Well… I—"_

"_Good, all the documents you need to read and revise are here. The Nurse will give you the correct amounts of medication that you need."_

Breaking out of her muse, she took another step forwards, wary eyes still fixated on the Subject that she was made to oversee for the day. Despite the fact she was making slow progress, she was still unnerved. You know that saying that sudden movements are the only thing that will provoke a wild animal? Yeah, right. That's a blatant lie if she's ever heard one. Every single step she took, she knew she was losing more and more of her precious composure, letting the fear become more and more visible, and apparent- and he knew it. He knew it so much that it doubled_- tripled- _her fear, making her even more of a target, making her even more vulnerable than she was.

She could see it now. See how this would turn out. He would spring on her, succumbing to base predatorial instincts, he would grab her by her hair, effectively scalping her, ignoring her screams of pure fear. He would take pleasure in another killing, squeezing her throat so hard that her neck became a mangled mess, squeezing until the bone erupted from the skin, squeezing beyond her death—no torture. He would then proceed to lapping up the blood, enjoying the pure primal form of torture it would be…

No. that would not happen. She will not be killed and mangled. She realised that she was now in front of him, and bent down to his level. "It's time for your medication now" it was all she could do to stop stuttering. God forbid her if she stuttered.

His gaze was still on her, but this time it was scrutinizing her, analysing her, picking out whom and what she was, calculating her every move. He narrowed his eyes, now mere slits of a swirling, deep, angry brown.

"…You're new."

Wait…. She thought that he didn't speak. Hadn't said a word since he was found and left here. That's what she thought, what everyone thought. Yet here he was, speaking.

Ignoring him, she continued with her task. Passing off the speech as something as simple as she was hearing things. That isn't a good sign is it? Here she was, a worker at a mental Asylum, hearing voices. Definitely not a good sign.

"...You're new. Which means they have run out of willing people able to deal with me."

Yes, he had definitely spoken. Willing people? Who would be willing enough to even work here? She herself had been pushed into working, as an apprentice psychotic health student, majoring in mental issues such as schizophrenia, instability of the mind, severe amnesia... she had gotten a job request to work here, and fool as she was, so happy that someplace wanted her to work, accepted, without waiting for any other applicants. She tried not to let it mull about in her mind what she could be doing instead right now. But here she was, stuck in a job she was an idiot for taking, and unable to back out of it... until a mental breakdown... where she would most likely be here still but in the wards for lesser effected persons. Now that she thought of it, there had been quite a few members of personnel that had sheer cases of depression or other things caused by this job- they would randomly break into tears, or insane cackles in some cases. No, she would stick to this job until the end. Whether it killed her or not.

Back to the task at hand, she did her best to put on a smile -not a creepy leer sort of grin, or something too exuberant- and to look kind and helpful. She hoped it came out alright- not the pained faked grimace full of fear leaving her mouth twitching at the edges that she could feel her facial muscles pulling. Great smile.

"You're scared, aren't you? Aww, didn't mommy ever tell you that monsters and bogie men were made up? There ain't no monster..."

Great. He was mocking her, a John Doe subject whom had been here the majority of his life- that had never spoken in the years he had been here- was mocking her. Mocking her- just the standard worker here that was in control of minor subjects. If she were anybody else, then she would of probably thought more. This man, this enigma, was finally talking after years of silence- warning much? Not including, he seemed to be mocking her. Yes, if she was any other of the Higher Ups whom worked in this section of the Facility, some warning bells would have triggered.

But even if so, nothing could prepare anybody for what happened _next._

"Yeah... no monsters... No monsters except for—"

"_Except for me, perhaps?"_

Wait- that was another voice. One coming from behind her, not in front. She turned, not as if she wanted too. Her movements were slow, sluggish, as though she had just woken up.

She really didn't want to turn.

What if it was just her imagination- her imagination that it was time to quit this job and start living here, in her own cell...

No, it wasn't that. It was there- the other person.

Then why didn't she want to turn?

Don't turn and think that she's going insane- hearing the voices of both a strange man whom couldn't possibly be in here as she had bolted the doors closed as instruction and of the John Doe patient- a man whom hasn't talked since being brought here. A man presumed to be a mute. A man whom neither the facility nor police- or in fact anywhere, anyone and everywhere- held no information on.

Turn and she'll be face to face with a person whom can walk through solid doors and break through top level security bolts and codes.

Weighing up her options, she couldn't really think which would be the worst.

Letting her instinctual curiosity take over, she turned her head. And was shocked at what she saw. A man, standing tall and proud, composing his posture as though he was a noble of some sort, body held in an icy demeanour that screamed for respect and fear. Bare footed, she could hear a soft clicking as he moved predatorily towards her... clicking... but from what? Looking at his feet, she noticed that his toes weren't human. They were clawed- not canine or feline, or taloned like a bird of prey- they were clawed somewhat similar to a reptiles, like an alligators or a lizards. Continuing her observation of the man, she noticed that his hands were clawed as well, shoulder length white hair tattered and messy, making him look feral and even more beastlike. His clothing was ripped, and was un-earthly. A long black trench coat style jacket, ripped at the edges and sleeves and buckles made out of some kind of swirling silver metal and long trousers, again torn at the ends. His shirt was ripped, showing off lean, toned muscle and a large ugly scar that begun at the base of his collar bone, and disappeared under his trousers. Some sort of combat gear was as close as she could guess. A low lying belt hung at his waist, hanging from that was a more than big enough collection of daggers, all looking lethal and designed to make as much damage as possible. There was one that the not- human seemed to be letting his hand linger above. His hand making, slow, almost comforting lethargic motions on the hilt- a hilt obviously worn with use.

The dagger itself was beautiful and deadly, a thick blade with a serrated edge, wickedly sharp. It even sung out blood lust and pain.

Also attached to the belt, hung a black chain, stained with some sort of coppery liquid... this man was obviously a ruthless killer, a fighter, a warrior hardened to war...

His face was that of Adonis, yet his personality seemed far from the God of beauty- he was more like Erebus, a son of chaos, spirit of darkness. He had a strong jaw line, accentuating his strong feral pride and attire. A straight nose- one that you would expect to be crooked as he has obviously been in many fights- and his eyes. Demonic eyes were how you could describe them at best. A dark black- so dark that you could fall in and never surface. You thought that midnight was the darkest black could ever be? Midnight seemed bright in comparison. These were the sort of eyes that would haunt you forever... the eyes belonging to a true predator, an ultimate being. All she could see in them was cold, cruel mercilessness, a feral intensity that could truly rip a soul to pieces, and a hard cold aura of intelligence, an intelligence that suggested he knew everything about anything in one look.

But worst of all, protruding from his back were a pair of strong, dark leathery black wings. They looked as though they could slice through anything, with the briefest of thoughts. A tail was also present, flicking at the tip like a cat when irritated. A thin tail, yet its thinness suggested something far from weak. It ended with a sharp point, a point that eerily reminded her of a blade- or even the tails of Xenomorphs from those movies that her brother had liked.

This beast- this demon from the deepest pits of hell- was born purely to kill.

And he knew it

She knew it

She was scared. This was the real predator in the room.

He knew she was scared. His sadistic smirk contorted into something that was more of a show of teeth and dominance.

Huh, flashing off his dominance at every chance. How very much like a male teenager full of testosterone.

There was no hiding her fear. She was aware of this as she took steps backward- backward into a corner of this padded prison. She would die here. She knew it. But why?

A cackle of laughter broke out, making her jump and move her head side to side franticly searching for the source. It was the Subject. He looked happy, as though something indescribably good had happened. The demon let out a snort of contempt at her actions, and moved forwards the Subject.

She had forgotten about him. Eyes wide now- what would happen if he escaped? She made a move, hand outstretched to grab onto the Subjects straight jacket—

"Now that isn't a good idea, is it new girl? Grabbing onto my clothing in an attempt to stop me from moving... it could say, perhaps trigger an _attack~" _

The demon chuckled, and bypassed the subject, focusing upon her again.

"Aye, that really isn't a good idea human. You could end up getting... hurt..." as he said hurt, he trailed his claws down her cheek, making quiet cooing sounds, temporarily relaxing her, putting her under his spell.

As his hand made its way to her jaw, his other joined the first hands petting. Now cupping her face in his hands, he stared into her eyes. Eyes filled with fear and begging to be released. Licking the corner of her mouth, he kissed her, sucking out her very being, her essence, her virtues, what she stood for, what she was. As he parted, he clicked his tongue and licked his lips where some kind of silvery liquid made its presence. Letting the Worker fall to the ground in a crumpled mess, he wiped his hands off on his jacket, as though touching her had been disgusting and he must purge himself from any contact.

"Tch, I hate women like that. Really don't go that great with my stomach"

"Yes, a very nice greeting that was. Shall we leave now? This place really does get bland after long periods of time"

"Quit the small talk. We both know why I'm here. It's time you repay your debt."

"...wish you'd forgotten that."

"Please, it gets awfully boring whilst waiting to be summoned which as people now are relying upon technology, becomes something that rarely happens."

Gripping onto the Mental Detainees' wrist, the demon squeezed and with speed truly unknown to mankind yanked him into a dark portal which only gave the essence of death and misery. The home of all Demons. Taking him to his guaranteed demise.

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><p><strong><em>::End note::<em>**

_Confused a little? Characters and names will be revealed in some time, but at the moment you will have to wait and guess, one is obvious who he is._

_Rating will probably change to M, for reasons you can all try to guess. Any help (a beta reader, help with title, help with summary is much welcome)_

_I am sure this is now obligatory in unwritten rules- review!_


	2. Chapter 2

::_Authors Note::_

_No reviews yet? Oh well, I'm sure that'll change if I bump up the rating and write 'yaoi' in bold capital letters on the summary ;)_

_Thanks to DarkHuntress Dark Phoenix for the favourite _

_**Disclaimer: See the first chapter**_

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><p>-Chapter Two-<p>

Burning. The building, once magnificent strong and tall, once a major part of many peoples lives now burning, a fiery inferno of captivating oranges, yellows and dark reds. A pure captivating beautiful sight was one way to describe it. Beautiful, yet deadly.

Fire signified many things- the end of life, a new beginning, rebirth, hope, evolution, warmth... the list could go on for years. For this man, the fire signified an addiction, an obsession- a love and a fascination.

Standing in front of the now almost shell of the grand building, he felt his eyes welling up in tears. No, these were not tears of grief and pain, but rather tears of happiness and awe. The objects he held in his hand he now dropped, letting them fall to the ground as he fell to his knees. Sirens approached, signifying the late and pointless arrival of the fire services and police. It wasn't as if the fire service could do anything. He'd bought petrol and oil especially for this job. Mere water wouldn't do anything. Besides, it wasn't as if there was a child or some kitten still inside. He had the decency and honour to wait until no people would have been in the building. Besides, fire is always best enjoyed in the dark, when a cold and clear night hangs above you, clutching you in its embrace.

A low humourless laugh escaped his closed lips. The laugh, now erupting into full fledged bouts of insane sniggers suddenly ceased at the sound of a clatter of metal against the eccentrically carved marble steps.

Slowly he cocked his head to one side, blue eyes full of mirth as he made out the shape of a shaking, unsure of himself police officer. Idiot had dropped his gun in a combination of haste to load and pathetic fumbling. A grin slowly spread across his features, showing off glimmering white teeth- canines sharpened to resemble that of some sort of animal.

"Now what's a little boy doing pretending to play with a toy like that? You should leave playing with guns to grown ups child." He snickered, overly confident and in a light and humorous voice.

"Y...You're under arrest! Don't you think that I'm a pushover- I know all about you Aidenn Cleethorpe, aged 37 years old, born in 1975- ordered an ASBO at 13 for deliberate damage to others property, ran away from your home when 16 with a 19 year old female, said female found dead 3 weeks later in a ditch, and a known pyromaniac. Your signature a dragon styled ace of spades left at all your works of so called art." The young officer stuttered out, puffing out his chest in the fact that he had apprehended somebody that had been on their black list for years and proud that he remembered all he could of the man in front of him.

"Heh, aren't you the little stalker? Gobbled up all those facts of me, obviously done research- almost makes me feel flattered. If not I thought you were hitting on me." Aidenn spat out, mind whirling in attempt to find any means of escape. But it seemed he wouldn't this time. His time of un attentiveness and listening to the bumbling fool behind him had cost. He knew he was surrounded, and he had no means of escape or ways to fight. He had heard his beloved lighter fall to one side, now out of immediate reach and the large tub of oil and petrol now all used up to create the blazing inferno.

Yes, his small mistakes had caught up to him at last. Now surrounded by police officers- all obviously more experienced and less likely to make mistakes like the idiot behind, he turned to face his to be capturers. Come quietly. That wasn't his style. He supposed that he could always reach for his pocket knife and stab some of the buggers, but no. Murder was not his style. Never has he killed- that supposed murder of the woman he had loved he was not responsible for. All he did was light a fire un-intentionally burning any traces of evidence to prove him otherwise guilty. Oh how the real culprit must have laughed at that.

He supposed he'd always wanted to go out in a blaze... and no way was he going to go willingly to a life time of imprisonment sentenced by the very law that he fought tooth and nail (figuratively of course) against to abolish and re-instate a newer, more adequate law and right of things to do.

He had three options.

-Go willingly and be sentenced to a life of gruelling prison slop, only to have the death sentence hung over his head.

-Stab a few and use the distraction to possibly escape- which was very improbable as they had him cornered.

-Or- go back to the fire. Fire was good. Fire was his friend. Yes, he would step into the inferno. He knew the ways of the fire, the structure of the building so he knew where would be safe to step and where not. If the fire itself wasn't a ridiculously high temperature he would be safe. But still given his options, it seemed that becoming one with the fire was good. Was his only option out of _here_.

Decision made, he made a few subtle steps backward, closer to where his beloved lighter had lain temporarily forgotten. The idiots had made one flaw, they hadn't cuffed him yet giving him freedom to move his hands and arms. In one quick fluid movement, he stooped and picked up his lighter and started to make his break to eternal rest with the flames. He would be in peace he supposed, burnt and charred by the flames of perhaps his favourite work ever, there to die a free man. No, he wouldn't go with those bastards.

As cheesy as it was, time seemed to slow- the police moving in comically sluggish and slow movements, voices muffled and echoing- like a phone with bad reception almost.

Picking up pace, he ran, and stopped under the once magnificent stone archway that signified the entry way of the building. He turned around, facing the mob of police and merely smirked, mock saluting them and their pathetic ways and idiocy away. Stepping back with a chuckle and widespread arms, he entered the inferno.

Aidenn could feel the flames tingling at his flesh, and lapping up his clothes like ravenous dogs. But he felt no pain. Not even when strands of his hair caught fire, singeing and burning away at the elaborately styled hair that he took pride in sitting in front of the bathroom mirror daily trying to get the perfect balance of messiness and formality that gave him an intimidating yet trustful look.

Watching as the buildings' entrance began to crumble and enclose on itself, he let out a sigh. It was over. They had lost any chance of getting him. He had won his personal war against obeying and submitting to the petty law.

Game Over.

No more was Aidenn Cleethorpe.

No more was the legacy known only to the creatures and demons of the night that hung above the name of Cleethorpe.

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><p>Eyelids cracking open, taking in a barren desert landscape with dunes finely sculpted from eons of wind; the occasional sparse dead tree like structure poking out of the ground made a slight change to the landscape, and the blood red moon, bathing the sand in an eerie red, making leering long shadows of anything that might possibly survive and live in this wasteland were the first things that he saw- and most importantly, <em>shouldn't be seeing. <em>

The last thing he remembered was walking into a wall of flames, and embracing in what would be his death in a fiery inferno.

_What the hell is he doing here!_

_Why am I still alive?_

_Who- who am I? _

Lifting himself up off the harsh cold sand, he stood tall on four paws- wait, this was new. _Paws. _Slowly looking down, he saw that he did indeed have paws- paws that hid powerful, thick obsidian black claws. _This is new... _flicking his tail in exasperation- wait, _that was new as well. _

To his astonishment, his formerly perfectly sculpted _human _body had somehow morphed into this panther-esque beast like form, all in the duration of walking to his death courtesy of his own flames.

_Please don't tell me that I'm alive and hallucinating, please don't tell me that this is all some sick twisted hallucination that I am currently going through in a hospital bed..._

"Oi! You, the lesser! Don't you know that you ain't s'posed to be Up Surface?"

Twisting his head around at the sudden noise of a voice, his eyes widened in a mix of confusion, mirth, revolt, and anger. _Who was this deformed thing talking to him like that!_

The thing had enlarged hands and feet, strange bent brown scales covering its body head to toe apart from under the finger like talons, which were gripping a strange, rusted and well used knife like weapon. It was rather large, and had a slight hump back, giving it a huddled troll like appearance, its eyes were small black beads set into a thick brow. Two twisted tusk like growths jutted out of its jaw, yellow from lack of care and cracked from battles. A thick, ugly scar came down one side of its face, gouging a deep vicious rip from its skull to its chest.

"I _said—_"

"I know what the heck it was you said, ugly." He spat laced with venom of being looked down in such contempt, being trodden on and treated like dirt from this ugly thing.

"You have a bite there- but such disrespect _won't do you any good Lesser!" _This last part was said as it disappeared, only to reappear soon after behind him, knobbly elbows now had threatening, sharp, _coated with something _blades.

A flash of orange and yellow flame like light then-

A scream. High pitched and filled with unimaginable pain filled the deserted, blank desert.

The thing, demon, whatever it was, was hunched in pain, pain caused by cruel, scorching hellish bursts of flames. A jagged cut ran along its throat, spilling from it a thick tainted stream of dirty blood. Obviously, this thing could survive having its throat deeply slit.

But it couldn't survive the _heat. _The torturous hell fire melted the creatures scale protected skin, the smell of burning flesh and screams of the thing attracting any predators lurking nearby.

The creature seemed to melt, just as an ice cream would that is left outside on a hot sunny day. Its very bones seemed to crack and creak as an old steel structure would, its whole structure melted, bubbled and collapsed as one would expect a building lit ablaze. Its screeches never died down.

Only they were now reduced to a gurgling wail, and with it reaching its peak, and ultimately its demise- the demon died. Reduced to a patch of melted metal like scales, charred bones and a dirty blood like topping, the glorified puddle was no longer identifiable as whatever it had been.

Like a topping on a cake, two beady black eyeballs remained, placed comfortably on the goop of their owner.

* * *

><p><em>::End note::<em>

_And bam. Instant Grimmjow. He won't be staying in his adjuchas form, as demons do evolve. But he'll be like it for a couple more chapters._

_This is perhaps the shortest chapter written yet, chapter three isn't even fully written and is already double the pages!_

_I am sure this is now obligatory in unwritten rules- review!_


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